


Negotiation

by Razikale



Series: Alphas, Omegas, and Betas. Oh my! [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Blow Jobs, Breeding, Complete, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Smut, G!P, Girl Penis, Knotting, One Shot, Pregnancy Kink, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:12:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7074676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razikale/pseuds/Razikale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Val Royeaux:<br/>Celene realizes that Briala has entered one of her most torturous times of year. She decides to use the situation to her advantage.</p><p>(Takes place between Inquisition and Trespasser.)<br/>(Started as total smut but then feelings went and slipped in.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Negotiation

**Author's Note:**

> Bioware owns everything.
> 
> CELENE/BRIALA FANS: if you don't know A/B/O and omegaverse, I recommend googling it first.
> 
> Thanks to Momoisme for being my awesome beta reader.

 

Orlesian fashion was never known for being particularly simple or understated. If a piece of fine silk existed, then it should obviously be layered with pearls, lace, and gold brocade until the fabric itself was nothing more than a theory holding together grand imagination. Occasionally the new trends were reasonable and even attractive. More often, however, they seemed to be poor attempts at either humor or revenge. Nothing could prove that more clearly than Lord Maurel’s upper lip.

Empress Celene forced her eyes not to wander too frequently to the unfortunate lump of flesh. Until Orlais had developed a passion for clean-shaven faces it had remained concealed beneath a bushy mustache. Small wonder, with a mouth like his. It rather reminded her of a nug sniffing for mushrooms. Perhaps it wasn’t so much the distorted size of the upper lip that was disturbing but the utter lack of a lower to match.

“You have full restoration of your manor and lands, Lord Ramond, what further claim do you have for grievance?” Celene kept her gaze steadily focused on the nobleman’s eyes. Twin stones of anger biting from behind his mask. It was rumored that he hadn’t chosen to shave of his own volition. In fact, she’d heard it whispered amidst tittering laughter that Lady Maurel razed the mustache in his sleep. That must have been a surprise. For both of them.

“The dalish stole from me, Your Radiance,” Ramond declared, righteous indignation only wavering when his glance darted to their ambassador. Briala didn’t react to the accusation, but Celene caught the flutter of her lashes as she kept from rolling her eyes in irritation.

“A serious charge,” the Empress acknowledged, searching for any sign of her lover’s thoughts. The elf was inscrutable at the best of times, capable of keeping secrets deeper and longer than even the woman who shared her bed had guessed. Right now, that taciturn nature betrayed nothing but impatience with this entire proceeding. Realizing the Ambassador of the Dales didn’t intend to speak, Celene continued, “Can you show us evidence? List or describe the taken treasures?”

“Metals! They dug out everything valuable and raped my land in the process. Your kind are terrible miners, Lady Ambassador.” Ramond remembered to check himself at the last second, tacking on the title with only grudging respect.

“We are not dwarves,” Briala gave a simple shrug, brushing off the blatant racism. “As for this claim of theft, the People only took possession of Villa Maurel at the Inquisition’s behest. You will recall that was after you fled the Dales and let the Freemen take over your estate.” The subtle dig at the noble’s cowardice slid so easily between her arguments. “The Inquisitor did not wish such valuable property to fall into the hands of deserters and brigands again. We kept the lands safe and have handed them back to you without any profit.”

“No profit? What do you call this?” Maurel flourished a sheaf of papers like a weapon. “I found these reports all over my villa; documentation of a vein of volcanic aurum and how you planned to harvest!”

Such a revelation made Celene’s brow twitch ever so slightly behind her mask. Volcanic aurum, indeed? Her own assayers had covered all the Emerald Graves and not once found anything more precious than stormheart stone. And the Empress always employed dwarves for such matters.

“You have found this metal in your lands?” Celene spoke to the aggrieved noble but kept her eyes on Briala. The elf was staring fixedly at nothing, glaring a hole into the wall just a few inches off from her own head. When her lover refused to meet her eyes, the Empress knew it meant that her temper was starting to peak.

“No, that’s the entire point. They’ve already taken it all. Just compare their findings to mine!” Maurel waited to see a nod of approval before approaching the Empress to hand her the papers. Her desk was always swimming in complaints, charges, requests and reports but she kept them neatly stacked. The Empire functioned not just because she kept it organized and in control, but because she made it look easy to do so.

“You have found copious amounts of good metal. Bloodstone, everite, onyx. Surely that is worthwhile.” Celene scanned the papers with practiced speed, noting rich veins of several ores. Very rich, in fact. The everite alone looked like it could be a productive quarry for years to come.

“The more I find, the less the value! I’ve hauled so much bloodstone to the surface that the price it fetches barely covers the cost of my workers. It’s the same with the others. J’en ai marre! I’m losing coin faster than they can dig.” The frustrated lord was letting his emotions get the best of him. Not surprising; he’d never been terribly adept at the Game.

Briala on the other hand . . . Celene turned her attention to the elf, lips aching from the effort of fighting a sly smirk. Setting up a proper quarry was an expensive business and Maurel was correct, elves were not miners. But they valued metal and could work some of its kinds better than dwarves themselves. The price of ore had been absurdly high these past few years, driven up by the demands of civil war, the needs of the Inquisition and the general terror of a world falling to pieces. Glutting the market with a fresh, apparently endless supply would let the cost drop once more, bringing it within reach of even the most impoverished clan smiths.

It was masterfully done. So much so that Celene would’ve liked to stand and applaud the subtle strategy. Truthfully, she would’ve liked to sweep across the room and gather the brilliant beauty into her arms to kiss until they were both breathless. But when didn’t she want that? Afternoon sunlight shone on the elf’s cinnamon curls, catching stray wisps and creating a reddened halo around her deliberately innocent face. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, holding back laughter perhaps, or the bite of a stinging rebuke for this pompous noble that thought to profit from her people. Briala’s eyes caught Celene’s gaze and the barest tinge of pink bloomed at the edges of her mask, a delightful color to offset the dusting of freckles on her skin.

“Yet there is no sign of this aurum?” The ruler forced her attention back to Lord Maurel, who was turning red for entirely different reasons.

“Not a pebble! They have taken it all, Your Radiance, robbed me under the guise of cooperation. They must make restitution!” The arrogance of his wounded demand! As if, at any second, he might take off his glove and challenge the petite elf to a duel. The Empress almost wished he would, well aware of her former spymaster’s myriad hidden skills. Celene would have tried to cool the noble’s temper, but Briala was already bristling, rising to the challenge in his words.

“We will do nothing of the kind,” the Ambassador’s reply was short and sharp, echoing like the slap that could start a war. She turned to face the man and it was only a lifetime of experience with Orlesian politics that kept her anger masked beneath cool disdain. “Search every caravel from the Waking Sea to Tirashan, you won’t find an ounce of this aurum you seek. It is unwieldy, difficult to temper and far too heavy for our warriors. We do not waste our time on what we cannot use.”

“But the reports,” Maurel protested, taken aback by the conviction of the woman’s argument and even moreso by the intensity of her glare.

“You said it yourself, your lordship, my kind are not miners.” Briala couldn’t resist the curl of a malicious smile as she spat the noble’s words back at him. “Dalish scouts are the finest in Thedas, but they aren’t dwarves that speak to stone. Nor are they Orlesians educated in your _university_ ,” the word came out with a bitter twist before the elf got control of her tongue, “The reports are wrong. It was a simple mistake, nothing more.”

The forceful reply was both impressive and worrying. It wasn’t like Briala to be so direct. The subject was not all that important and small battles like these were usually the elf’s favorite part of the Game. The Ambassador’s face wasn’t just pink anymore, but growing genuinely flushed and the agitation bled into her eyes like sparks of lightning trapped in amber. She was done with the whole matter, tiny twitches of movement hinting at her urge to leave.

“We would not wish a proud family such as yours to be ruined by assumptions, Ramond.” _Least of all your own._ Celene kept her true opinion private as she continued, “Orlais will cover your losses from this endeavor,” she waited just long enough to see the noble’s eyes light up in delight, “In exchange for possession of the quarry.”

Now the man hesitated, eyes darting nervously as he tried to process the bargain and its traps. It wasn’t uncommon for the Empress to take over spoiled assets and she always made some surprising use of them, found profit where others could not. Maurel was obviously trying to see what she wanted from the land; but fortunately, greed and impatience were clouding his judgment. She just had to nudge him a little more.

“We would need your personal presence at the estate to ensure a smooth transition and steady operation, only until another trusted overseer might be found,” Celene continued in a cool tone that blended charm and command. “A terrible sacrifice to ask of you at this time of year. The Season is nearly upon us and your wife is so very fond of the festivities.”

The amusing gossip had been true; the Empress knew it from the way Maurel’s mouth fought against breaking into a grin. Even his lumbering intellect was capable of understanding exactly what she offered. A valid excuse to pass on a full season of the Game, to escape scrutiny and even slip from the watchful clutches of his wife; a chance far too tempting to refuse. He would have months to regrow a rich mustache and could return to Val Royeaux with his dignity intact. Best if he made sure the servants hid all the razors in the meantime. But then, who knew? Fashion was fickle among the elite. By the time he came back, facial hair might be the trend once more.

“It is always my honor to serve, Your Majesty. I will begin preparations at once.” Maurel couldn’t have bowed deeper if there were coin and naked courtesans on the floor.

“The contracts will be ready before you leave Val Royeaux. Your loyalty is well noted, Lord Ramond.” Celene dismissed the fawning man with a single nod, impatient to be alone with the mystery of Briala’s mood. The noble bowed and scraped all the way to the door and finally left them in silence.

The Empress turned her attention to the silent elf, surveying her reserved features, but she found nothing to explain the unusual behavior. Briala had taken a fine benefit for her people to be sure, but she’d also allowed a rich asset to fall into the hands of the Empire without cost. These past months of playing games within the Game, Celene had learned her lover never gave without taking as well. Like all the best players, she undoubtedly still had something up her sleeve. The question was only whether she concealed a trump card or dagger.

“Now,” the Empress leaned back in her chair, their privacy allowing her to relax, “What will I really find under the hills of Villa Maurel?”

“Stormheart. A massive vein.” Briala’s answer was abrupt, terse, very nearly short-tempered. Not even a trace of the smugness Celene would have expected from the woman after taking a victory.

“Which your people have undoubtedly obscured quite cleverly in your own excavation attempts,” the blonde chuckled, glancing over the assay reports and maps. She knew fakery when she saw it and these were shoddy deceits at best. Briala’s people showed their cleverness best when they played foolish.

“My scouts will reveal the location,” the elf stepped towards the desk, arms crossed behind her back to play innocent, “In exchange for a set discount on all ore mined from the Maurel quarry.”

A lovely ace to play. Celene’s lips twitched at one corner, curling in appreciation of the maneuver. Even if the Ambassador was distracted and irritable, she was still a master of strategy.

“We would be happy to give the Dalish craftsmen every advantage. Eighty percent of market price for the next three years.” The Empress leaned forward, folding her hands on the desk to exude calm even as she felt her heart begin to race. What was there like matching wits with a worthy adversary?

“That quarry will be giving ore past our deaths, Your Radiance.” Briala’s mouth tried to shape the title into mockery but there was too much purr on her tongue, the sound growing thicker on her words, “Fifty percent for a decade.”

“I do not intend to die so soon, Ambassador. I will honor a pact of five years, no longer.” Celene savored the hint of her lover’s frown. It was so rare to get a true reaction from the woman, to find these tells of thought and emotion dancing across her face. “Five years, seventy-five percent.”

“The People will barely consume a fraction of what you will find. Sixty.” Briala braced her hands on the edge of the desk, gripping it like she might lunge across to strangle the stubborn ruler.

“Seventy,” the Empress countered, fascinated by the play of impulses warring in the elf’s honeyed gaze.

“Sixty-five,” the Ambassador ground out her demand with finality. Celene could see her knuckles turning white on the edge of the desk and, for a moment, she worried that the petite brunette was near a collapse. She had the air of a wounded soldier, fighting to hold her ground until the battle was won.

“Done.” Celene rose to her feet, quickly coming around the cumbersome furniture to face her love. Something was bothering her. She was certain of it. Briala had settled for a price that was actually within the realms of her expectations rather than forcing the number down to the very edge of reason. The Empress had fully expected her to push to fifty-nine, perhaps sixty-two at the highest, but the elf had chosen to end the negotiations in compromise rather than flagrant victory.

“Something is wrong, bien-aimé,” Celene spoke softly, not yet reaching for her love. They still had so many scars and open wounds between them; she couldn’t trust that the pain in Briala’s eyes wasn’t somehow her fault. The Orlesian affection, spilling so naturally from her lips as it did when they were alone, made the elf momentarily wince as if tortured. Celene could not hold back, she squeezed the smaller woman’s arm, begging for her attention, “Dis-moi, Bria. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Celene,” Briala started to lean into the ruler’s gentle touch but caught herself, arms shaking as she doubled the strength of her grip on the edge of the desk.

She wasn’t holding herself up, the Empress instantly recognized, she was holding herself back. The rest of the clues slotted rapidly into place. The ruddy color blooming across her face, that brusque manner, her impatient speech; not to mention the way she avoided her lover’s gaze so adamantly, worried over betraying the truth. The elf had always been impossibly stubborn, especially when it came to admitting what she might need. Celene shook her head, affection and annoyance coloring her thoughts in equal measure.

“You didn’t tell me,” she reproached but only slightly, raising her hand to cup the elf’s flushed cheek. This time Briala didn’t resist, pressing into the welcome caress and letting the barest hint of a breathless sigh slip past her lips.

“There are larger problems to solve. This,” the Ambassador’s eyes started to turn dark before she swallowed back the desire, “This is nothing. I will handle it.”

“Not alone.” Celene swiftly brought her other hand to cradle the elf’s delicate face before she could draw away. “Not this time, my love. Let me help.” She leaned forward, planting a light, sweet kiss at the corner of Briala’s tempting mouth. “Let me be with you.”

“Emma lath,” the elf’s whisper barely escaped her lips before catching Celene’s. Born and raised in Orlais, yet the ancient language still fell from her tongue when instinct began to break through.

Celene could feel the urgency behind Briala’s kiss, the excited heat of her mouth drinking everything in. The elf’s body surged towards her, seeking the pressure and warmth of contact, but the Empress still had a bard’s reflexes and speed. She caught the smaller woman’s hips, holding her safely in place, shuddering in sympathy at the moan of protest that reverberated from Briala’s chest. Celene wanted to concentrate only on their lips, on the sweet, gentle promises trading back and forth across their tongues; not get distracted by the screaming demands that pulsed lower. The play of teeth tore a surprised gasp from the Empress and she felt more than heard the low rumble of desire growing louder in Briala’s throat.

The elf was pushing forward again, intoxicated on her beloved’s touch, daring to want more. Celene backed up a pace, hitting the hard edge of polished wood as Briala closed the distance between them. For a split second, she considered giving in. Fornicating on the very desk where she decided the fate of her nation would certainly make paperwork more enjoyable in the future. A final burst of strength let her resist, breaking the kiss and pushing the elf away. Briala’s cracked whine of protest nearly broke her resolve but Celene was determined. She wanted more than rushed fumbling and ruined clothes. For what she had in mind they needed the twin luxuries of privacy and time.

“Tonight,” the Empress commanded, breathless. The glint of danger in her beloved’s eyes was a beautiful defiance; Briala had always been a fighter. Celene afforded herself one last luxurious press of the elf’s parted lips before leaning towards her ear, whispering, “You will come.”

The sultry words mingled invitation, demand and promise, and did exactly what she needed. Briala shivered, eyes squeezing shut to contain an agony of sudden arousal. It was in that blink of paralysis that Celene slid from her grasp. She was at the door before the elf had even gathered herself enough to resume breathing. The empress slipped away with her dignity and wardrobe intact, but her mind awash with corruption.

* * *

 

That night, Empress Celene didn’t touch her supper. The butterflies in her stomach couldn’t bear to make room. Just as well that the kitchens were used to her sparing appetite. She paced her bedroom, a ball of coiled knots constantly tightening and releasing in her belly. She hadn’t been this nervous since that night in Halamshiral, after the Inquisitor broke down the wall between herself and her beloved, reunited them with each other and the feelings they’d fought to deny. How she’d paced then! The carpets had been worn smooth with the constant treading of her feet. The questions had gnawed at her. Would Briala come? Could they bury the past? Would their wrongs and differences keep them apart?

She needn’t have worried. The instant a familiar shape slipped out of the shadows and into Celene’s view, the confusion of noise and doubt battering her insides went completely still. That night reminded her, as none other, that she loved Briala. Completely. Almost to the point of madness. Perhaps beyond, some would say; given the risks she’d taken to keep the elf close, to keep their love alive even in memory, if nothing else.

Likewise tonight she was nervous, but not about her love. Not about their bond or the past and future. Tonight held a far more visceral flavor in her anxiety. It had been so long since they’d been together during Briala’s time. The demands of her empire, vagaries of the Game and, quite simply, the complications of their relationship had seldom allowed Celene the opportunity to indulge in this aspect of the elf’s nature. There were only a handful of occasions when she got to see Briala completely undone by desire, losing any semblance of control and forgetting anything but the pleasures of their hungry coupling. The memories tossed and twisted beneath Celene’s thoughts, filling her with eagerness and trepidation in equal measure.

All those other times, she’d kept herself in check. She’d held herself back for the sake of her rule, for the Empire, for the fragile tension of their relationship that always seemed ready to break under the next heavy toll. Not this time. Not tonight. Celene’s mouth curled into a tiny smile of greedy delight as she repeated her resolve. They had weathered their tests, proven their love. It wasn’t perfect but it was all she wanted and the Empress had grown weary of denying herself. Tonight she would have Briala. All of her.

The sound of deliberate silence pulled at Celene’s ears and she turned. The mirror was just closing behind Briala, a vision of agile grace and barely contained need. The blonde Empress went to her lover, stopping within inches of touch. For some long seconds they simply gazed at one another, faces naked, looks betraying want more eloquently than words. Even after so many years, Celene could still be caught off guard by the elf’s raw beauty. The sculpted shape of her face, that light dust of freckles over sun-kissed skin, flecks of gold sparkling in her eyes, succulent lips so perfect when they pressed to her own. Briala’s cinnamon hair was loosed of its usual braid and fell to her shoulders, a mane of curls that lent just the right touch of ferocity to her elegance. The Empress could only suck in a sharp breath and hope to survive the spell that this gorgeous creature cast over her senses.

“Juste ciel, Bria,” Celene murmured, nostrils flaring as she fought to take in deep, steadying breaths, “You are as perfect as ever.”

“And did you ask me here just to look?” The elf’s voice might have wavered, but the playfulness of her tease broke the tension. The Empress let out a low, breathy chuckle, gathering Briala into her arms and savoring the sweet, languid caress of lips that matched her every touch. Whatever else they did, any other demands that bled up from instincts and need, this was still the two of them. That was all the Celene had to know to settle the last of the questions trembling beneath her ribs.

“I plan to do far more than look,” the blonde purred as she pulled away from the luxury of Briala’s mouth, resisting such temptation only because she wanted even more. She gently untied the laces of the elf’s dress, slipping the material to the floor and leaving that lithe body wrapped in nothing but a thin veil of loose silk. There was a dark spot at the front of Briala’s thighs, testifying to the need pulsing beneath that scant cover and Celene’s mouth watered at the sight. Her own sex ached in sympathy, longing to provide the relief they could find together. But not yet.

The Empress held the elf’s gaze as she slowly lowered herself. She knew that the sight of the ruler of Orlais on her knees was enough to nearly shatter Briala even at the best of times. Now the woman’s face contorted into a grimace as she warred for control, plump lip caught between her teeth, the hand stroking Celene’s golden tresses desperately fighting the urge to fist her hair. The blonde simply smiled and dragged her fingers up trembling legs, catching the translucent slip and sliding it up, revealing her lover’s flesh an inch at a time.

She’d been able to see the outline of Briala’s arousal as soon as the heavy velvet of her dress was shed. Still, that couldn’t prepare her for the sight of the swollen cock straining so urgently against the elf’s small clothes. Why wear something so skimpy when so much needs to be contained?  Celene let one hand trail over the bulge between her lover’s legs. The soaked fabric was sticky against her fingers, and hot where she could feel hard flesh beneath her touch. Cupping the throbbing length brought a sharp thrust and strangled groan from Briala’s tensed lips, both sending a fresh surge of arousal to the heat pooling in Celene’s core.

The elf had enough awareness to strip away the cumbersome cloth of her long undergarment but then her hands were back on Celene. One threaded gently through blonde tresses, the other gripping her shoulder. Both clenched spasmodically when the Empress ran her tongue over the silk encased length, flicking at the very tip.

“Fenhedis! Maker, Celene,” Briala groaned, hips instinctively rocking into the touch of her mouth.

“Patience, my love.” The Empress scraped her fingernails up the back of the elf’s thighs, savoring the trail of goosebumps and shivers that followed in her wake. Then she had hold of Briala’s small clothes, pulling at the hem, tugging them down. The alpha’s shaft sprung free, bobbing like a neglected toy for a few breaths before simply pointing towards Celene, a throbbing accusation.

Were all alphas so generously endowed? The Empress’ had always had a curious mind and the question drifted idly behind her thoughts even as she gazed on her lover’s shape. Perhaps it was just the contrast of Briala’s narrow hips that made the appendage seem so much larger? Celene wrapped her fingers around the aching cock, exploring its size and weight, finding the stroke that had Briala’s breath coming out in shallow pants. No, she decided, the flesh filling her hand was definitely impressive.

The flared head was livid with heat, vein pulsing almost angrily down the underside of her length. A single, translucent pearl was beading on the very tip and, before either woman knew what was happening, Celene dipped forward, lapping it up with her tongue.  The violent twist of fingers in her hair and hips bucking forward told the Empress all she needed to know. This pleasure had evaded both of them for far too long.

After a last swipe of her tongue against the slit that leaked so deliciously for her lips, Celene pressed forward, taking the full head of her alpha’s cock into her mouth. The girth was a strain on her jaw, particularly for an empress who seldom opened her lips beyond a rebuke or charm. But the twinge of discomfort was instantly forgotten in the delight of Briala’s flavors coating her tongue. The salt of sweat on her skin, the musky hints of excitement leaking into her mouth. Celene instinctively sucked harder, craving the taste of her lover’s release, drawing her in even deeper.

The Empress could vividly remember the first time she took Briala this way, both of them nervous and giggling, wary of the unknown. The hunger in her lover’s eyes had done more to urge Celene to please her than any words or touch. The Empress’ gaze drifted up now, savoring the spectacle of her alpha lost in pleasure. Briala’s head was tilted back, lips parted over a litany of pants and shaky moans. The hand threaded in blonde hair didn’t dare demand, but gently writhed and begged as the Empress’ mouth dragged her ever closer to the edge.

Celene had almost forgotten this feeling. The luxurious power of lust throbbing in her mouth, twitching and swelling with every wet caress. She dragged her tongue along Briala’s cock, lashing the sensitive underside of her head, digging fingers into the muscular flesh of the elf’s hips when she started to thrust too hard. She took as much as she could of the thick length between her lips, swallowing the dribbles of come that leaked out with each stroke. The taste was so familiar, so close to the nectar that she was used to lapping up from glistening folds. Yet it was still different; heavier, earthier. _Full of life_. The thought dragged a long moan from her throat, the hum of it spreading past her lips and through Briala’s needy shaft.

“Celene,” the elf gasped, both hands now tangled in blonde curls and squeezing tight. “Oh, Creators, I’m-.” The rest faded into a cracking groan, broken notes interspersed with breathless gasps as she emptied into Celene’s mouth. The Empress swallowed, trying to drink up every drop, choking in frustration when the overflow of seed spilled past her lips. Did all alphas come that much? Or was it just a side effect of being in rut?

Celene milked the last of the release from her lover’s tip before letting her spring free with an obscene pop. She could feel errant juices making a mess of her face and started to wipe the sticky wetness off her chin, but the hand in her hair turned even more insistent. Briala pulled the blonde to her feet, crashing their lips together for a hungry, open kiss, savoring the taste of herself filling Celene’s mouth.

The alpha’s grip slid down, tapered fingers gripping the back of her neck, stroking her throat. That touch was power and awe, tender and greedy all at once. The possessiveness of it made the pulsing warmth between Celene’s thighs rise to a pounding fire. The elf was so petite, so delicate, yet she radiated a strength and command that had the Empress’ body already aching to surrender. She could decide to drag the ruler of Orlais to the floor and take her pleasure like an animal and Celene wouldn’t care, would only know the ecstasy of breaking apart beneath her. It felt like Briala intended to do just that, pressing against the taller woman, rocking into her to find relief.

Before either of them lost their minds to such passions, however, Celene needed one thing to be clear. She tried to pull away from the elf’s mouth several times, but insistent lips kept recapturing her before she could speak. The Empress slid her hand down between their bodies to find the hard shaft rubbing against her hip. She gave a gentle squeeze and a small whine of delight spilled from Briala’s mouth to hers, but nothing more. She repeated the movement, much harder. That finally made the elf break from her lips with a gasp and Celene was quick to seize the moment.

“Bria,” the name came out as little more than a breathy rasp of desire and she felt her alpha shiver at the wanton sound.

Dark amber eyes dragged open, the barest rim of color visible in so much swirling lust. There was an adorable furrow to her brow as she fought to concentrate on Celene. Determination steeled the elf’s jaw even as her touch stayed soft, promising she would focus only on her lover, on anything she needed. The Empress wasn’t sure her bones could hold against the rush of warmth that bloomed in her chest, a flood of emotion filling her to the point it prickled wetly at her eyes.

“Mon soleil,” the affection swelled out of her in a trembling sigh.  That simple endearment made Briala’s lashes flutter. Celene grazed one thumb tenderly against the fine edge of a cheek, waiting for those sparkling eyes to find her once more. “You know you mean everything to me, yes?”

Nimble fingers caught Celene’s hand near her face and held it close, pressed to feel the soft warmth and comfort of her skin. She kissed the inside of the Empress’ palm and inhaled her familiar scent. The elf’s voice was hoarse but firm with the promise in her reply, “So do you, vhenan’ara.”

“Then that is what I want.” Confession and command twined together on the Empress’ tongue, her shaky tone growing strong as she repeated, “Everything, Briala. This time, I want all of you.”

Even if the alpha could be confused by the demand, there was no mistaking the deliberate touch of Celene’s fingers wrapping around the base of her cock. The knot was already swollen and heavy, straining for want of soaked, velvety heat. Briala bit her lip but failed to stifle the soft keen that rose from her throat.

“You -,” the elf tried to speak, her face an agony of warring needs, “You’re not an omega.”

“Does that make me less desirable?” Celene already knew her answer. She could feel it in the hands fisting her night dress, the pounding pressure throbbing beneath her touch. The Empress knew exactly how much her lover wanted her, wanted _this._ So much that it was making both of them dizzy, but she could be a maddeningly stubborn creature. Celene had spent a lifetime playing games to get what she desired, she certainly wasn’t above cheating. A wicked smile curled her lips as she leaned forward to plant teasing kisses down the graceful column of Briala’s neck.

“I don’t want— _Creators_ , Celene.” The woman gave a violent shudder when that expert mouth found her pulse point and began to suck. Her will was breaking apart but still she tried to desperately protest, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I am not as fragile as you think,” the Empress argued with a flash of defiance. She emphasized the fact with a scrape of her teeth against Briala’s throat. The smaller woman instantly tensed and Celene realized she may have gone too far, pushed too hard. Then a heavy groan rumbled into her chest and fingers laced with her hair, holding her in place.

“That is what you want?” Briala’s breath was a hot stutter against her ear. “You cannot just take. You must also give.” The hand buried in blonde tresses pulled softly, urging the Empress to tilt away. Celene felt a violent shiver race down her spine when Briala’s lips pressed against the exposed line of her neck. “I will give you everything, Celene.” Silky warmth drifted down the sensitive skin, interchanging kisses with shallow breaths before Briala’s final words, “If you will do the same.”

A graze of teeth over her fluttering heartbeat told the Empress precisely what her lover meant. They had spoken of such things before; at first in jest, then seriously, then only sadly as the answer was the same each time. The Empress of Orlais wearing a claim would not just cause scandal, but pandemonium. She had steadfastly refused every offer of matrimony for decades. To publicly reject marriage but take a mate?  

Celene had learned all she could about mating bonds, trying to understand not only how they worked but why it always seemed so important to her love. The only conclusion she could reach was that the claim was a deep seated instinct in alphas and omegas alike. One that the rest of the populace would never truly grasp. Try as she might, Celene couldn’t see the value of such a politically dangerous risk.

Until now.

Now that she had Briala’s body pressed to hers, the aching shaft pinned against Celene’s hip throbbing hard enough to make her inner muscles flutter in echo, teeth and lips holding her captive with only the barest threat of breaking skin. The sticky heat pooling between her legs knew nothing but the need for that thick shaft splitting her apart, filling her, giving her everything she’d ever dared to want. Longing writhed inside her, whispered— _growled_ —beneath her skin, screamed to do anything, give anything, just so long as she could take. Take Briala, take her knot, take her panting, cursing and rutting until she spilled and then still taking— _oh, sweet Andraste—_ taking so much more.

Thoughts swimming in the headiness of such desire, Celene had to step away to steady herself before daring to reply. Briala’s tiny whimper of pain protested the loss of her touch, but the alpha didn’t try to pull her back. The elf stood strong, resolute in her decision even if she was trembling from head to toe from the effort of staying still. The Empress marveled at the sheer power of her lover’s will, a warm bloom of affection swelling beneath her breast.

“Anything you want, my love,” Celene nodded, little more than a subtle tilt of her head. She took the other woman’s hands and pulled, walking both of them backwards towards the bed. Only when she felt the edge of mahogany wood bump into her leg did she let go. Briala’s eyes were staring, wide with surprise and doubt. A quick flick of the Empress’ fingers and the thin straps of her nightdress fell, a waterfall of silk fluttering to the floor and leaving her bare to her lover’s hungry gaze. Celene couldn’t tell if the brunette was too stunned to move or scared that this was all some elaborate trick.

The alpha’s waist was narrow, perfect for the pale hands that glided down her ribs, catching the subtle curve of her hips and tugging. The blonde tossed her hair to one side, allowing moonlight to catch the smooth, pale column of her neck. Briala’s nostrils flared and Celene felt the elf’s muscles coil and shiver in the effort of not lunging forward at once. Gripping her lover’s hand, she guided lissome fingers to caress the unmarred skin of her shoulder, offering a silent promise before she dared to confess, “I gave myself to you years ago, Bria. Have me, I’m yours.”

She’d expected the alpha to snap and surge up, crash into her, tumble them both onto the sheets in a flurry of hungry mouths and hands. Instead the brunette took a long breath, letting out a sigh so deep it sounded like it came from the bottom of her soul. A soft brush of lips accompanied her gentle nudge, urging Celene back onto the bed. The blonde willingly complied, sliding to the center as she tried not to squirm beneath Briala’s hungry gaze. It felt like an eternity under that stare, eyes roving every inch of her skin as if she was searing the memory into her mind.

“Briala, mon seul amour, please.” Celene dragged one foot higher on the sheets, raising her knee and exposing the glistening want of her sex. Her flesh was on fire for her lover’s touch and she couldn’t stand this torture much longer.

Like magic, the plea brought Briala to her in an instant. She settled above Celene, heat and muscle lowering until the weight pinned her writhing body to the sheets. The blonde arched into that heavy warmth, welcoming it between her legs even as her hands reached to get their fill of skin. The alpha’s mouth was hungry against her neck, trailing down her throat, marking the curve of her collar before pressing lower. Celene couldn’t hold back a cry of pleasure when wet lips engulfed the stiff peak of her breast, teeth and tongue working in concert to raise a melody of desperate moans.  Her hips had begun to rock beneath the elf, seeking some relief from the pounding need that only got wetter when Briala’s sinful mouth turned to lavish the same attention on her other breast.

A graze of fingers raised goosebumps up the inside of Celene’s quivering thigh and her hips rolled greedily, seeking more of the touch.  Briala refused to leave the pleasure of the Empress’ perfect breasts but neither would she be distracted from her aim. With a familiarity born of years of practice, her skilled hand slid between swollen folds, the ample slickness making her moan around the hard point between her teeth.  Celene’s clenched jaw barely let a hiss escape when the elf plunged into her, two fingers rapidly setting a punishing pace as she explored her lover’s shivering, molten depths.

The Empress’ body arched off the bed, rolling to meet Briala’s every thrust as she coaxed a flood of wetness down her fingers. The alpha’s touch expertly hooked inside her, stroking the swollen spot on her inner wall that made stars spark in her belly, bursting brightly behind her eyes. She felt the stretch of a third finger, muscles shuddering and clenching to resist before blossoming open even wider, welcoming the fullness.

“Bria, please,” Celene groaned, hands scrabbling to catch hold of her love. She dragged the elf away from her breasts, pulling her high enough to find her lips in a hungry kiss.  Her words poured between their mouths, ragged and gasping, “Je t’en supplie, amoureuse.”

The alpha managed only a sharp nod, her own words ripped apart by the need of that plea. She pulled her fingers away and Celene’s sex ached in protest of the emptiness. The Empress didn’t have long to mourn the loss, gasping when the thickness of Briala’s shaft nudged her opening. She had only a moment to brace herself before her lover was pushing forward, forcing her tight flesh to spread and swallow the throbbing head. It had been years since Celene had felt anything more than her lover’s fingers and tongue and her inner muscles were almost virginal in their resistance.

Briala didn’t sink in past the first inches of her tip; breath coming out in pants and muscles trembling from the effort of holding still, but she didn’t press further. Instead she drew back, almost pulling free and Celene felt a low whine building in her chest before a gentle push filled her once more. The alpha kept her movements shallow, just a few inches shifting back and forth within her lover’s clinging heat. Every thrust hit the same sensitive patch of flesh on the blonde’s front wall and her hips instinctively began to rock forward, eager to meet that delicious stroke.

Celene was aware only of the throbbing pit in her belly, aching to be filled. She could feel every inch of Briala as the elf gave more of herself each time she plunged in. The hard warmth pushed deeper, spread wider until the Empress could swear there was absolutely nothing left of her body to give and then the alpha pushed even beyond that. The unaccustomed stretch was becoming painful, Celene’s inner walls clamping down, the pressure of Briala’s girth felt like it was surely about to rip her apart. Her whimpers turned from pleasure to panic and a whine of fear slid past her lips.

“Je t’ai, ma’arlath,” Briala breathed, body stilling, pressing small kisses over her lover’s cheek as she murmured comfort. “Tel’enfenim, I won’t hurt you.”

The promise was followed with a litany of assurances whispered against Celene’s ear. The tender touch of lips entwined with sweet words. Ma reine, vhenan’ara, tu es si douce, si parfaite, uth emma sa’lath. The two languages perfectly blended soft praise and affections that made Celene’s heart stutter and clench. The enchantment of Briala’s voice poured liquid heat into her belly, letting it melt lower.  The alpha began to press forward once more and now Celene could feel wet warmth welcoming her lover in.

Even when her sex had bloomed so invitingly, the Empress could feel the alpha holding back. Briala’s long, deep thrusts filled her; the delicious pressure against her most sensitive places had Celene gasping in seconds. But it still wasn’t everything. She could feel the knot that pressed so temptingly against her entrance with every stroke. Each powerful plunge filled her with familiar bursts of pleasure but it wasn’t enough, wasn’t what she truly needed. She hooked her legs over narrow hips, squeezing tight to arch into Briala’s rhythm, hungry to pull her even deeper. The swollen knot grazed her folds, teasing her opening but never pushing in.

“Please, Bria,” the Empress begged, longing for nothing but the relief of finally taking what she needed. She didn’t even care that the words were a broken whine over her bruised lips. “Please, please, my love. Take me,” she gasped when Briala lost her rhythm and surrendered to a heavy grind, the thick knot beginning to stretch her wide. “Yes, _merde_ , yes. Fill me, mon soleil, attache-moi.” Celene could feel tears building in the corners of her eyes, trying desperately not to break into sobs. “Knot me, Bria. Oh Maker, _breed_ me!”

The primal demand came from the very depths of Celene’s need and called to the alpha’s most powerful instinct. Realization lit up Briala’s face like the dawn. The press of her body abruptly pulled away and the Empress tried to follow, urgent protest choking in her throat. The alpha’s hands immediately returned, soothing the panic, coaxing her to lay back and stay still. The blonde bit her lip, holding a whimper as she did what her lover wished. Briala’s cock was still buried deep inside fluttering heat and now strong hands gripped the flare of Celene’s hips, holding her lover firmly in place as she began to push her knot in.

“You could’ve told me,” the elf struggled for words, breath hissing through clenched teeth as she swiveled and ground against the tight ring of muscle.

Celene just let her eyes fall shut, focused only on the pressure between her thighs, the burn of her entrance as Briala worked herself in deeper.  She barely felt the painful stretch as she tasted what it meant, the ecstasy only seconds away. Briala tied to her, filling her, pouring everything into her until she couldn’t possibly hold more. Celene’s body quaked at the thought, yearning for the fullness that could come only from taking her lover’s seed.

“If I’d known that you wanted,” Briala groaned as she felt the rippling pressure of Celene’s inner walls bearing down on her, “A-a child-.”

“Your child, Bria,” the Empress tried to correct her forcefully but the words fell into a cry, the widest part of the alpha’s knot catching in her entrance. “Maker sauve-moi. I want it to be you.”

“Vhenan, Celene. Oh, _delltash,_ ” the alpha’s curse echoed sharply off the walls as her lover’s body finally took her in, accepting the knot and sealing so tightly around it that neither of them could move. The Empress’ fingers raked over Briala’s back, raising a pattern of welts as she writhed in the first spasms of relief. The pleasure was sweet but fleeting, sex throbbing in complaint as she felt the pounding pressure in her lover’s shaft still aching for release.

The Empress’ couldn’t form words, each shape on her tongue shattering as another heavy twitch from Briala’s knot washed away anything but need. Her body spoke instead, heels digging into the elf’s muscled backside to urge her even deeper, nails biting into flesh, wordlessly begging.

“Please, emma lath, Celene, I need-,” the trembling request fell to pieces, Briala’s voice becoming a strangled cry. She collapsed against the Empress, a bundle of shivering muscles and shaking strength, spending herself completely in just holding together.

The moment Celene felt a breathless mouth against her skin she knew what her lover needed. Without hesitation, she parted her lips over the sensitive column of her alpha’s throat, finding the racing heartbeat beneath tender flesh. Briala’s hips bucked against her, knot barely moving except to rub so perfectly against her inner wall and send another spark behind her eyes. The Empress felt lips and teeth pressed to the graceful curve where shoulder met throat, mirroring her own hold. She braced herself, every muscle in her body clenching tight before she sank in and tasted soft skin tearing beneath her teeth. Copper and salt filled her mouth at the same instant as Briala’s shattered cry, a final swell of pressure rising from the alpha’s knot clear to the tip of her cock and then bursting free, thick streams erupting to splash Celene’s inner walls over and over. The Empress’ body seized, falling into her own ecstasy and muffling her cries in the abused flesh of her lover’s neck.

As her mind shattered and filled with stars, Celene had only the briefest second to notice: she never felt Briala’s teeth.

* * *

 

“Does it hurt?” Celene’s voice was cracked and raw, worn from too many breathless screams.

“I should be asking you that,” Briala murmured back, chuckling ever so slightly as she jogged her hips, reminding the Empress of the knot binding them together.

This was the fourth time in two days that they’d taken their coupling to the point of a tie and both knew their bodies would be full of protests and punishments when Briala’s rut finally ended and the breeding drive went away. Celene smiled, hooking her leg higher over her lover’s hip and simply reveling in the comfort of the strong body holding her close. Of the positions they’d tried, she liked this one the best. Facing her alpha while knotted allowed her the luxury to watch each flutter of those lovely eyes, to trade kisses as small climaxes and pleasant aftershocks continued to roll back and forth between them.

“This, does it hurt?” Celene clarified, fingers gently tracing the livid wound her teeth had left in Briala’s shoulder. The bite worried her but not like she’d expected. She’d thought to feel guilty or possibly afraid. Instead, she felt oddly attached to it. She found that as her touch outlined every distinct, ragged edge, it filled her with pride. Her mark on Briala. For all the world to see. _Mine._

“Being taken doesn’t hurt when it’s what you want.” The elf’s eyes swam with warm affection. Her hand covered Celene’s, pressing her palm flat against the bite and stealing a kiss. _Yours._ The confession curled so easily in the play of her tongue, the tease of her smile against the Empress’ lips.

“But you didn’t claim me.” Celene pulled back, frowning at the troublesome thought that had been gnawing at her off and on since she’d left her mark. She’d thought she understood how the bites worked, what Briala wanted. But then the elf deliberately passed on her chance to return the mark. Did Briala change her mind? Did she not want her as a mate?

“You are the empress of Orlais. A bite mark would be rather conspicuous. Even unseemly,” Briala’s playful chuckle dismissed the option. That she was repeating Celene’s own objections from years before did nothing to lessen the blonde’s concern and a frown settled over her lips, furrowing her brow. The alpha instantly noticed the change and brushed her thumb over one pale cheek, trying to coax a smile back.

“I could simply set a new trend in fashion,” the Empress pointed out, determined to reason her way through the problem. “High collars would conceal any scar.”

“They would also rob Orlais of the delight of your slim shoulders and lovely cleavage,” Briala teased, fingers tracing the elegant line of her lover’s throat down to her collarbone and into the cleft of her breasts. When the sultry touch couldn’t erase Celene’s frown the elf’s face turned serious. She propped up on one elbow, searching the depths of sky blue eyes. Her voice turned incredulous as she asked the obvious, “Do you _want_ me to seal my claim, vhenan?”

“Yes,” the confession broke free with far more fervor than Celene expected. That was exactly what she wanted. She might not be alpha or omega but Briala was her mate. The Empress wanted to give herself over completely; to prove, now and forever, that this woman was her chosen.

Briala brushed a few stray blonde tresses out of Celene’s face. Then her fingers raked through more of her hair, pushing it gently away until the ruler’s shoulder was bare. The way her eyes drifted over that unblemished line of flesh! Like she was in the presence of a divine relic. The elf tilted down and pressed her lips just below Celene’s ear, eliciting a pleasant sigh. Each kiss moved lower, none more than a feather’s brush, tickling as often as tasting her lover’s skin. Then her mouth was over Celene’s pulse and both of them could feel her heart speeding up, hammering in her veins as the excitement and anticipation washed away any thought of pain. Briala inhaled a deep breath of Celene’s scent. The Empress felt lips parting open and braced herself. But then the elf’s teeth never came. There was a final warm, lingering caress and then the alpha was drawing back.

“Bria, I thought -,” Celene’s frustrated arguments tangled on her tongue. She didn’t know whether to be confused or heartbroken. Before she could protest further, the elf’s lips silenced her; a long, tender kiss gradually convincing her to forget any worries. When Briala finally eased away, Celene saw only brightness in the alpha’s eyes.

“You don’t need to carry my mark, Celene,” the woman’s smile was shy, but proud, “You are already carrying my child.”

“How can you -?” The blonde’s hand instinctively went to her stomach, palm spreading wide beneath her navel. The usually taut muscle had a gentle curve, still swollen with the alpha’s knot and seed.

“Trust me, I can tell,” the elf laughed, resting her own hand over her lover’s fanned fingers, “I’m part of you now. Always.”

The Empress resisted any urge to question further. The strange gifts and extra senses of all breeders were a matter of record and she trusted her alpha. If Briala said life was growing inside her body, it had to be true. Celene curled closer into their snug embrace, a happy hum filling her chest as visions of their child began filling her mind. Boy or girl? Long golden hair or rich cinnamon curls? It hardly mattered. The Empress leaned forward to brush feather light kisses over her beloved’s sleepy face. So long as he or she had these same warm, tawny eyes that glowed with emotion. And the freckles to match.

Dreams of the distant future, of dances and crowns, began drifting closer in time. Thoughts of the next years became concerns of the coming months. She’d need to find a trustworthy physician, better than the ones she currently had at court. No more burning through the long hours of the night on Empire business. Her dresses would most certainly have to change; Orlais would embark on a trend of loose-fitting waists. How long before she started to show?

Celene bit her lip as she pictured her stomach swelling, growing heavy; breasts getting full and round. She could already feel the warm, delicate fingers that would map each new contour, lavish attention on every inch. She imagined Briala’s mouth against the curve of her belly, scattering kisses and elven affections. Excitement shivered through her, inner walls pulsing with a ripple of pleasure much stronger than aftershocks. Her alpha moaned at the sudden pressure, breath catching in her throat as Briala felt fluttering heat tighten around her again. Celene’s arousal pulled at her mate, drawing up desire like stoking coals to life.

“What are you thinking about?” The elf’s eyes turned dark and knowing, tongue darting across her lips like she could taste Celene’s fantasies.

 _You._ The answer curled her smile into suggestion. _Your mouth on my breasts, soothing the ache as they fill and stretch._ Celene’s sex gave a greedy throb. The knot that had been shrinking between them rapidly grew thick and hot once more. The Empress released a sweet gasp of pleasure as she felt her body welcome the renewed tie. _Your hands caressing my stomach each night, measuring the change as your child grows inside me. Barely a palm’s worth first. Then two. Then both hands spreading wide, filled to overflowing when you hold me, taking me, reminding me of what’s yours._

The blonde’s sultry lips confessed far more than her words when she leaned forward to sigh against Briala’s mouth, “Everything.”

Pale fingers threaded into the tangle of dark curls and Celene drew her lover into a deep, eloquent kiss, pouring herself out without words. There was no language for the rising tide of emotions that threatened to carry her away. The elf understood perfectly. Briala gently rolled until Celene was resting on her back beneath the alpha, enveloping the precious woman in warmth and security. She couldn’t offer more than shallow thrusts, barely able to shift her knot inside the clinging tight heat, but it was enough; in this moment it was just right. Briala set a languid rhythm, savoring the magic they created together. Celene melted into the sheets, content to surrender herself completely to the love of her mate. They had created a life together. That sweet truth filled her with a pleasure beyond anything her body could touch. A life—a _future_ —that they could share.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ever wake up with an idea that won't leave you alone? That's what this was. More like exorcism than writing.
> 
> My apologies for the Orlesian. It's based on 3 semesters of French from a million years ago and had to rely heavily on Google translate. If anyone wants to point out errors, I'd be happy to correct.
> 
> Anyone with an opinion is welcome to share.


End file.
